Time and Emotion
by toomuchconflict
Summary: It was a friendly split, but maybe not a clean one.


They had an amicable enough a split. And it's not as if what they had was ever really... official, to begin with.

They just make better colleagues. They know each other well enough to communicate in just a few looks and nods, but aren't close enough to get tangled up in the minutiae of each others personal lives.

She's also his superior, so he's definitely not supposed to get distracted like this, even without the shared history.

But he's no automaton, and he just so happens to have a pretty good memory.

Others look at her and see the ice queen, the top Cerberus Operative--sometimes, he doesn't. Sometimes she doesn't look a thing like Miranda Lawson, XO of the Normandy SR-2.

She looks like a slow, sated smile in dim light. He doesn't see a stern woman in a tight suit: he sees the past, the smooth line of her back as she turns toward her glass on the nightstand. Suddenly and at the strangest of times, he remembers the warmth of her skin as his hand travels the curve from her back to her thigh.

To be fair, it doesn't exactly help that she keeps pulling stunts like this.

He doesn't even realize she's in the room until the low whir of her omni-tool alerts him. He sees the haptic interface of the door turn red from the corner of his eye. He doesn't comment, just turns to fully face her, crosses his arms over his chest, and waits for an explanation.

She's reluctant, remains at the door and looks down at the space between them. Tries to open her mouth, almost begins to wring her hands, before frustration finally makes the turnover to anger. She sets her jaw and mirrors his crossed arms.

"This is interfering with the mission. We need to talk."

"Talk? I can't think what about," he says, a wry smile on his face.

"Dammit, Jacob," she snaps, begins to pace. "You know what I'm talking about. You were short with me throughout the entire mission."

"Oh, so that was you being pleasant?" He shrugs. "Guess I misread the atmosphere."

She stops and gives him a look of such anger that he finds himself wondering if he ought to throw up a barrier. Just in case. She settles on storming over and smacking her palms against the table, rattling the weapons enough to make a few loose clips roll to the floor.

"I didn't come here to argue about who started it. We were compromising the mission! _Shepard_ noticed!"

He frowns at that. "Didn't say anything about it. Are you sure?"

She pushes herself upright with a grimace. "Yes. You'll be getting the talk too soon, I'd bet."

He watches her. She frowns back at first, but the anger is rapidly leaving her. Her expression becomes almost pleading in its stead.

He has to look away, down at the weapons at his side. He undoes his arms and pushes back a clip that has rolled too close to the edge of the table.

He doesn't like this anymore than she does. But there's one truth he's learned the hard way, and stuck with almost all his life: The future can't change the past. And the past is what makes you.

"You went behind my back," he says eventually, careful and unsure of what it is he's even trying to tell her.

"I'm sorry. But that's not going to cut it, is it?" Miranda answers, resigned.

She moves closer and lays her fingers tentatively against the edge of the table. He looks up, searches her face. She is sorry, but she's also right--whatever it is he needs, it's not enough.

"I don't know, Miranda. I'm not sorry it's over. I'm not sorry we brought that man to justice."

It won't break him. But some of his thoughts feel like they belong to someone else.

"Still... Maybe I am a little sorry I had to know."

"There's nothing I can say to fix this," she says in a bitter tone, looking away.

"No. There isn't," he answers. He looks down at her hand, takes it in his, lost in thought. The feel of her skin is familiar, and yet not.

He continues, "but I don't hate you for it."

"Maybe, but you don't exactly love me for it either." She tries to pull away. He doesn't let go.

He runs his thumb along the back of her hand. There's a scar there and he doesn't even know where she got it. They make damn good colleagues--but if that's all, there are a whole lot of things that are supposed to be off limits.

After a while, she reaches for his face.


End file.
